


If Everybody Had an Ocean

by thegoodthebadandthenerdy



Category: Fantastic Four (Comicverse), Spider-Man (Comicverse)
Genre: Day At The Beach, M/M, Road Trips, Short & Sweet, Writing Exercise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 07:52:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19268932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegoodthebadandthenerdy/pseuds/thegoodthebadandthenerdy
Summary: An early morning trek for a postcard view.-challenge: use the words sanctify, preset, and glance





	If Everybody Had an Ocean

**Author's Note:**

> i'm starting a thing where i generate a random word or two and write a drabble using those words and this is the result of my first try! i needed something quick to work on to break from my other wips (which, unsurprisingly, are also spideytorch)
> 
> title from surfin' usa by the beach boys

"What're your plans for the day, Pete?"

He tugs his phone back from his ear, lifting the line of his neck from the mattress and disrupting the pillow from the top of his head as he squints at his screen, searching for time, but mostly finding Johnny's grinning contact photo. It's early, he finally realizes - the sun's nowhere near getting up.

"Why?" 

He should definitely know by now that a simple why isn't going to get him any length close to the answer he wants, but it's quickest, and he wants to hear Johnny's voice again.

"Remind me- how do you feel about the beach?"

***

"You look like an asshole," Peter greets him half an hour later as he forgoes the door entirely and hops the side of the cherry red Mustang, landing with a small 'hup' in the vanilla 'shake vinyl seat.

"Yeah, and you totally don't," Johnny shoots back with a soft roll of his eyes that borders on fond, grabbing the bag from Peter's hands and shuffling it into the backseat beside his own.

"Do you or do you not have the doors welded shut on this thing?"

He makes a show of slipping his sunglasses - unnecessary for all the early morning fog - down on his nose and craning his head over his shoulder - unnecessary for the fact that the streets are dead - to work his way out of the parallel parking space he'd swallowed up in front of Peter's apartment building before murmuring, "Maybe."

"Thought so," he replies, patting the side of the car anxiously as they putter down the cramped street, waiting to snap free onto a wider road.

***

"You can go back to sleep, if you want," Johnny offers after Peter feels his head hit the ridged backing of the seat for the third time. He rolls his neck, coaxing out a satisfying crack, before letting his eyelashes cut across his pocked cheeks.

"Then how," he starts, huffing, "would I enjoy your illustrious company?" 

Eyes closed, he misses the way Johnny grips the wheel, fingers wrapping all the way around, knuckles strained and sinews stretching to the dawn. 

Eyes closed, he misses the way Johnny glances over, a single dimple on the side of his mouth closet to Peter inverting as he smiles with a sanctified kind of relief.

Eyes open, he unknowingly swats away Johnny's pre-day softness and says, "Eyes on the road, hotshot."

***

They drive miles and miles, long legs aching from varying shades of tan calves to bared in fluorescents knees. It isn't until the clock strikes upon four-thirty that Peter gives up on faking at sleep and fully opens his eyes.

His fingers stumble toward the radio, lighting up the clearly upgraded controls with wakefulness. Mostly, it spats static like blood from the mouth. His effort is concentrated as he spins the dial, the preset channel flying away as he scrolls through each open station.

Johnny shoots small looks out of the corner of his eyes, his lips stammering over the lines of pearls above and below his tongue. 

Peter looks over at him fully, brow raised - _what?_ \- and Johnny lifts his shoulder gently, as if the thick line of the strap of his tanktop is the boulder Atlas carried.

It's supposed to say: _I don't really let people touch the radio._

It's supposed to say: _But I don't mind if you do._

 ~~It says~~ Peter hears: _Nothing._

***

"Hey- no cheating!" Peter caws, his flip-flopped feet stumbling over themselves as he tries to pass over oddly cool pavement to equally as tepid sand to catch up with the deserter far ahead of him.

Johnny laughs like silk and velvet- decadent and draping. It settles over Peter's shoulders as he pushes the shirt from his skin in preparation for the no doubt spine-numbingly cold water they'll crash into in their competitive haste.

"Not my fault you can't keep up, Parker!" he whoops, already within spitting-distance-of-spitting-distance of the tide.

Peter shakes his head, arms pumping and legs creaking and smile cracking so far across his face he's worried it'll roll right off in the wind.

There's a crash from up ahead and he turns his eyes just in time to see Johnny nearly drown himself in a pint-sized wave. He shoots back up, sputtering out water like breath and trying to push his hair back from his eyes.

Deadpan, Peter calls, "That was the most graceful thing-"

"Shut up!"

"I've ever seen. Ten out of ten!"

Johnny shoots him double birds as he finally trudges full-force into the surf, something akin to his Spidey senses inhaling sharply in his chest as the temperature sinks in.

"Remind me again-" he says, breath sharp in his throat as he bobs up and down in quick succession. "Why I follow you anywhere?"

It's Johnny's hand that brings him back into his body like the snap of a rubberband. Suddenly, he's aware of the shell-filled sand beneath his toes, the water purring at his hips, and the exact place that Johnny's fingertips indent into the skin of his bicep.

"Hey, look," Johnny murmurs, motioning his chin toward the horizon. "Just in time," he adds, though Peter thinks he isn't supposed to have heard that part.

Smudging up from the charcoal sky is the sun, orange sliced and ready to smile. It pushes against the edge of the sea, letting itself ricochet from one ripple of water to the next all the way to the stiff brown of Peter's eyes.

It's- he used to watch the sunrise every morning, but he hasn't seen something like this in a long while.

"Wha'd'you think?"

Peter inhales, exhales, marvels - just a bit - as the entirety of Johnny's plan comes into focus.

"You did good, Storm."

"I'm sorry, what was that?" Johnny asks, tapping his earlobe. "Couldn't hear you over how beautiful that is."

Peter shakes his head, sinks his shoulders to draw Johnny's attention before smacking at the nearest patch of water, sending it straight into his face.

He sputters for a second, finally flinging the water from his eyes with well-trained hands. And it's odd, Peter thinks, how easily he adapts to water.

"You sure you wanna start something you can't finish?"

And hopelessly, recklessly, Peter knows the answer is yes. Wants Johnny to know it and the slowly filling beach and every part of the world after that.

He grins. "I think I'll manage."

***

He doesn't kiss him until late that night, when they're idling in front of Peter's worn apartment building. Like hell is he giving Johnny the satisfaction of a picturesque, sunrise kiss in the middle of the ocean.

Not that it matters, because there is still something in a sunset over an unseen city skyline that's worth remembering. Or maybe it really is just the kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> for june i'm on tumblr @johnnystormbisexual (happy pride!) but come july i'll be back @foxmulldr


End file.
